


A King's Coronation

by DeetleBug



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 07:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeetleBug/pseuds/DeetleBug
Summary: i made this for school and im posting it on a betthis is not my best work please dont take it seriously lmao





	A King's Coronation

I suppose it doesn’t make for very engaging entertainment to start with boredom, but unfortunately, that’s exactly how it started. Posing as a noblewoman is boring business, I’m afraid, and without enlightened conversationalists, the whole charade is completely tedious. The mindless chatter among so-called “great men,” whose position rests on the weak institution of patriarchy and frail measures of nobility, has never caught my attention, and thusly never will.

“Please talk, dear, you’re being a poor guest.” Gerard murmured, leaning entirely too close into my space. The candles cast a warm glint into his dark eyes, his heavy brow scrunched down in his worry. “Do you feel ill? Your eyes look dark today, and your skin is sallow. Should we return home?”

“I’m perfectly well, thank you.” I replied, straightening my posture in my seat and pushing out my chin. “I’m just bored.”

He cast a sharp glance in my direction before returning to his chat with his friend, about some buck they’d shot on a hunt. I sighed, casting my mind’s eye adrift in search of the beloved object of my attention.

As he bustled through the door amongst his boisterous party, I decided that I should deal in matters of fate that night. 

I drew forth among them the man who murdered the beloved Banquo, laying now dead in a ditch. My heart ached for him, but not nearly as powerfully as it fluttered to see Macbeth’s brow glisten under the chandelier, panicked hearing the news of his dead friend’s escaped son. 

The guests among whom I sat muttered their unease seeing their new king so worried.

Macbeth inquired, “Where is Banquo? With him we would have the whole nobility of Scotland under one roof!”

An idea struck me, mischief curling its dark tendrils around the forefront of my mind. I cast my eyes low, and called upon the departed spirit of Banquo. He appeared wordlessly in the empty seat at the head of the table, ghostly tears beading down his face. 

“Why do you weep, young man?” I asked, not aloud but into his mind, and he looked at me. His gaze smarted my face where it stayed, and he did not answer. I felt compelled to see into him, and so I did: he felt hollow, unmoved, and he mourned. For what, I could not tell. 

As though on cue, Ross invited the king to sit among them at the table, in the empty seat at their head. 

Indeed, the seat was not empty. Banquo sat, void of all his joy and of the blood which should bring life into his veins, and now his eyes turned toward Macbeth. The light of candles flickered across his face, casting dark shadows into the deep gashes in his head. 

Macbeth laughed mirthlessly. “Who did this?”

“Did what, your highness?” Gerard, ever the keen lord, asked. Banquo shook his head, and Macbeth ignored the living lord.

“Don’t shake your head at me!” Macbeth whined, eyes wide, face pale. “You know I didn’t do it! You cannot say I did it!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I know you may think it unwise, rude even, to laugh, but I am older than you; I know more than you. Mortal worries such as yours have not phased me in millenia. The toilings of a king and his dead comrade are quite the funny joke to me. 

Lady Macbeth stood, shushing her husband. “Don’t worry, dear friends, he’s just having a fit. Don’t mind him, you’ll make him angry, just return to your meal please.” She declared, attempting to soothe. A strained smile settled across her face, eyes crinkling as though in pain. Oh, she was making it so hard not to be obvious.

As the Lady turned back to Macbeth, I peered into his mind, listening to him and his thoughts. 

“Are you even a man?” She hissed, her wan smile transforming into a sneer. “You are acting weak. This is like that floating dagger situation; you’re fearing nothing.” Macbeth’s countenance fell, and he chewed his lip. He did not reply. “Quit making that face!”

“Just look, you stupid woman!” He snapped, gesturing toward the stool. “There’s a-” he cut himself off, as the ghost turned to him, silent in its moroseness. He spoke again, now to the mutilated man sitting in his chair. “What, do you want to say something? I don’t care what it is. You can nod, so you can talk too, so speak.”

The lady at his side cast him a sharp glare. “Has your foolishness consumed you?”

And then our young lad goes on a tangent about the brutality of ancient lands when, in all honesty, it wasn’t much worse than what he had then. I tuned out about half-way through. 

Banquo left, not wanting to witness his dear comrade’s descent into insanity. I understood his pain, and yet, I knew my fun was not over: I simply had to give it a rest for a moment.

“Ophelia my dear, please engage the other guests.” Gerard hissed, grabbing like a vice onto my knee beneath the table.

“Off of me, you insolent pest.” I snapped, swatting him away. Macbeth turned to us now, ashen and anxious, and yet smiling.

“Don’t worry about me, friends. I have an illness that’s nothing to those who know me well.” He choked out a laugh, and raised his cup. “A toast, to love and health for all, and our dear friend Banquo, who is missing.” 

Well, if he misses him, surely he would want him there, no? And so I beckoned again to Banquo, and stuffed Macbeth’s mind full of the thought of his guilt, and of his fear. A man cannot be manipulated with what isn’t there, and surely Macbeth is full of undying negative emotion.

Banquo, with wounds fresh on his scalp, weeping ichor and anguished tears, sat again upon Macbeth’s stool at the head of the table. 

“Please, fill my cup full.” Macbeth muttered to his wine-bearer, who filled it to the brim, very nearly sloshing out. Red stained his hands not unlike hours before. He threw his head back, guzzling the wine like the nectar of gods, and he turned to sit down.

But again, he could not, as his seat was occupied. He screamed.

“Avaunt! Away with you! Stay in your grave! Quit staring at me, you sightless fiend! Your body is cold in the ground, now leave me!” He cried, flinging himself onto the table, scrambling on all fours away from the apparition. The feast laid before us was scattered, bread crumbs grinding into the tablecloth and game meat squelching beneath him. 

Oh, this man made my job so hard that night. I was very nearly wheezing, tears springing in my eyes. His lack of wits about himself was simply unprecedented; I could not contain my laughter. My fellow guests glared at me.

“My dear, you must stop. We’re going home as soon as possible.” Gerard growled, for the last time leaning into my space and breathing in my ear. I bared my teeth at this disgusting spoil-sport. Thankfully I wouldn’t have to deal with him much longer.

Lady Macbeth tittered shrilly, her incisors prominent in her forced smile. “Please don’t worry dear guests! This is just a stupid habit of his, what a waste of our time that it spoils our fun.” 

“I’m more a man than any of you!” Macbeth shrieked over her, eyes wide and rolling in his head. Banquo still sat silently, hands folded in his lap, still weeping. “I’ll face down a bear, a rhinoceros, a tiger, anything, anything except this foul apparition!” He declared, his voice booming hoarsely over the ruckus of the disordered table. “Call me what you will, if you come back and challenge me like a man! But you won’t, I know you won’t, so go!”

The tension in the room was palpable as the guests watched Macbeth scream at an empty chair. Banquo’s eyes bored into him, flickered to me, and he turned and left, exiting stage right. Ross asked something of Macbeth which I didn’t hear, and the Lady Macbeth sighed.

“Look what you’ve done.” The lady sighed, her face drawn and long-suffering. She turned back to the guests. “Well it appears obvious that my husband cannot get himself together. Please leave as you will, ranks don’t matter. Just go.”

And so Gerard grabbed me by the arm and hoisted me out of my chair, storming away down the hall and out into the night.

“Let go of me you insufferable mortal.” I keened, ripping away my mask of nobility to reveal my nature, snarling all the while. His eyes widened, he sobbed once, perhaps in fear, and he bolted away from me into the hazy darkness. Finally.

As guests poured out the doorway, I stayed hidden in an alcove nearby where I could hear the tense discourse between Macbeth and his wife. I continued to press the anxiety forth in his mind. The last of the guests left before he began to speak again.

“Graves move and trees speak, my love.” Macbeth whimpered. His voice was muffled, and as I peered through his eyes I saw he leaned on his lady’s chest. “There’s a saying, blood will have blood. Banquo will seek revenge, has sought revenge, and will continue forth still.”

Lady Macbeth sighed and nodded, smoothing his hair. “Indeed they do. We will be safe though dear. Just stay steadfast.”

He almost didn’t hear her as I pushed him farther, closer toward the edge of sanity, now in sight. He continued. “Crows and magpies have been known to expose the guilty. Their mystical signs won’t be ignored my love.”

Again she sighed, and a tear unseen by any but me carved a path down her cheek. I heard the nearby rustle of fabric, and I turned away.

“Ophelia.” My sister hummed, stepping from her cloak of shadow. Her eye glinted at me.

“Yes sister?”

“You must stop.”

“Indeed you must,” the other sighed, Ingrid, and cast back her hood. Her hair shone dark and glossy under the moon. “You’ve interfered too much.”

“Am I not allowed a little fun with this particular specimen?” I snapped, turning from the two, watching the newly crowned king and queen comfort each other. I felt Macbeth slipping from my grasp.

“No, you are not. Come back with us.” Esther brooded. Her heavy brow cast a shadow over her face, and it made her look angry. She probably was.

I relinquished, and stepped away from the couple. I heard their steps echo softly toward their sleeping chambers as I hoisted my cloak around my shoulders, and retreated with my sisters back into the depths of the dark and the folds of fate.

**Author's Note:**

> update: i got a dime


End file.
